Of Wolf and Man
by GreenEyeObsession
Summary: Remus tries to reach Harry through a letter, but Harry seems to not want to listen. So Remus writes a second letter, in which he reveals horrors of his past that he hasn't dealt with since he was Harry's age.


A/N: Just something I cooked up when I didn't have a computer… which means my first draft is in _pencil_… gasp 'S been a while! Hope you enjoy.

**Of Wolf and Man**

Reading by lamplight, Remus moved his hand to turn the page when there was a sudden, loud rapping on the window. He swung his legs off the bed and let Hedwig in; the book was still in his hand. Quickly he marked the page with a spare piece of parchment and removed the owl's burden. He noticed his own handwriting on the outside of the scroll, which appeared to have been hastily sealed. This only puzzled him until he opened it and found a scrawled message on the back of his original letter: _I don't want it._

It was the letter he had sent to Harry earlier today.

With a sigh Remus flopped back onto his bed, which swayed slightly under his sudden weight on it. Hedwig, alarmed by the noisy mattress springs, flew to the darkest corner of the room and landed on the desk. Her stark white feathers reflected the light from the night table beside Remus. She glowed like a full moon.

He'd been expecting something like this to happen, though ironically enough he hadn't thought about what he would do if it did. Harry, who had most likely been shut up in his bedroom for days, must be sinking deeper into a depression that was eating him alive from the inside out.

_That sounds disgusting, _Remus thought. He could relate, though… Remus had more than once felt that way: the time when the bite from the werewolf was fresh and deep in his skin; the lonely nights he had spent, howling, in the shed behind his parents house; finding his little brother dead, blood trickling out of his mouth, teeth and claw marks on his throat; the first days he spent solitarily in the corridors at Hogwarts, glancing longingly at eleven year-olds James and Sirius, who on one such occasion had been entertaining a crowd of students by demonstrating advanced magical skills (for first years) on an unwary Snape… All of these memories had been imprinted into his brain before the age of thirteen, when one became a teenager and was expected to be moody and expected to experience changes over which they no control…

Remus had dealt with changes he couldn't control since his sixth birthday.

Hedwig ruffled her wings slightly as Remus tapped the desk lamp with his wand and brought it to life. His drawer of parchment was still slightly open from this morning; he grabbed the piece sticking out. He pulled the inkwell closer and dipped an old quill into it, then laid his hand on the parchment. The tip remained suspended above it for several seconds, then…

"What the hell am _I _supposed to say?" he mumbled aloud, burying his head in his hands. He pressed his wrists into his closed eyes and held that position for a long time. Finally he lifted his head; the world spun for several seconds before he got back his sense of gravity.

He wanted Harry to take him seriously, but didn't want to do the old "I understand how you feel." It never worked, at least not on moody teenagers dealing with a miserably unfortunate life, no parents, no parental figure whatsoever, no godfather, no friend you could completely trust… No, that last one bled into his own life. Harry has Ron and Hermione.

Harry needed to calm down and consider what Remus had to say. Needed to relate to something. Needed some sort of _advice, _something to relate…

Perspiration, deep in thought. _A difficult time, blamed myself…_

His stomach, gone cold and rigid, fell suddenly and painfully.

_Rome__._

No one knew about it, at least no one still around to say anything – he hasd only ever told James and Sirius, out of threat or warning more than anything. Then he remembered that Peter had been there too, but shrugged off this information as swiftly as it had come to his attention. His hand was already sliding and his quill scratching.

_Harry,_

_ I realized when I received your note that the last thing you wanted to here about was Sirius's will, and even less to hear the typical condolences. But for now, read what I have to say. I have a story to share with you and it is something that I think will help you cope._

_ My brother, __Romulus__, was three years younger than me. We were extremely close until I turned six, when I received the bite from the werewolf that has changed my life forever. He didn't quite understand, but the screams of agony during my transformations scared him and he distanced himself from me. It hurt a lot, but I feared that if I tried to get him back into my life, I would do something terrible._

_ At dusk on the night of a full moon, my father led me out to the shed in the backyard to lock me up there for the night. Soon enough, the sun was completely gone and moonlight crept in under the door. No one but my family could hear my distant screams; we'd moved away from the city to prevent others from being disturbed._

_ The next few minutes aren't completely clear in my mind, as the mind of a werewolf was always quite unpredictable in those days, before there was the Wolfbane Potion. I must not have noticed the lock click on the door, or it opening, but I do remember smelling the aroma of a human._

_ It must have been cloudy that night, for I changed back into a human. I saw stars for several seconds before I looked down at the ground and found myself outside. Horrified, I thought fast and looked all around me. My worst fears confirmed, I saw __Rome__, lying behind me, obviously dead._

_ I could barely stand having to lock myself back in the shed, but I knew if I didn't I might unknowingly kill the rest of my family as well. So I stayed in the shed and awaited the morning, which would return with not only sunlight but my sanity._

_ Facing my parents, __Rome__ limp in my arms and tears streaming down my face, was the most difficult thing I had ever done in my ten year-old life – perhaps my whole adult life as well._

_ It came to me easily to blame myself, for it so obviously was. If I had never been bitten, none of this would have ever happened. I was so angry with myself that I would sometimes stay in the shed hours after day broke. I refused the meals my mother brought out for me, and ignored the otherwise obvious sadness in her eyes. I imagine it felt like she was losing a son all over again._

Remus paused and realized his breathing had become shallow and his writing steadily messier. He couldn't spare a laugh at imagining how on earth Harry would be able to read it. Seeing it written on paper, after so many years, unnerved him…

_Yet still I sank deeper into a depression so frightening (not only to my parents, but to myself as well) that sometimes I could not find my thin, pale face or blond hair in the mirror, only the pinched, gaunt face and lank locks of a stranger._

_ The day that may have saved me was the day my Hogwarts letter arrived with the post. I was elated for the first time in so long that my mother became very alarmed when I began to dance on the balls of my feet throughout the kitchen. I was already twelve by now, and the three of us had lost all hope that it would ever come. But it finally had, and I almost forgot about the reason for my prolonged grief._

_ That is until reality slapped me it the face and I remembered my condition. It had to be a mistake – really, a werewolf? Asked to attend a school inhabited by hundreds of possible victims? I could not bear to think of endangering anyone again, especially total strangers._

_ The new headmaster must have suspected I would take it this way, for my presence became requested at his office. My parents came with me on the train and met with Professor Dumbledore before he asked to see me. They returned looking hopeful, but it did nothing to improve my mood and opinion – it was simply out of the question._

_ The professor listened patiently (which probably irritated me the most during my time in his office) while I stated my fears. When I finished talking it was my turn to listen. To my disgust, it seemed my parents had mentioned my brother's tragic death, for Dumbledore brought it up in his lecture. He noticed my discomfort, and paused for a moment before he said, "I suppose it's all your fault, am I correct?"_

_ I hadn't thought the old man would say it like that. Nevertheless, I launched into a well thought out explanation full of reasons as to why my attending Hogwarts would be too dangerous, would put too many innocents in jeopardy, and I used the incident involving my brother to back a lot of it up. Again he listened patiently, and when I finished I found myself out of my chair and pacing._

_ He suggested that I sit down. I did, though hesitantly. A few seconds passed before he said, "Do you know everything there is to know about werewolves?"_

_ I thought this was a silly question, indeed: had he forgotten what I was? When I didn't answer and a look of incredulity remained glued to my face, he added, "I didn't think so."_

_ For what seemed like hours he told me facts that I'd never known before: the psychology of the werewolf, the basic mindset of the transformed state, lack of control over actions, and most of all the tendency to only attack humans. I was on the edge of my seat in rapt attention the entire time. Finally he said, "So therefore, it was clearly not your fault that your second form murdered your brother."_

_ The wording, especially, was what finally convinced me that what he was telling me was true. He'd made it sound like it wasn't even me there when __Rome__ died, and it was the werewolf, not me._

A teardrop blotted the ink. Remus grabbed a tissue and carefully soaked it up with one corner, hoping it wouldn't smudge. _I'd better finish this up._

_ I realize you probably aren't on the best terms with Dumbledore right now, but he was right about me, and he's right about you. Sirius's death was NOT your fault. Voldemort gave you the unwanted gift of sharing his emotions and visions, and there's nothing you can do to change that. Yes, he's made your life a living hell, but it won't do anyone any good to blame yourself for something that was completely out of your control to stop or prevent. We have to work with what we've been dealt, and not look on the past for answers to the question, "Who's to blame?"_

_ Let me know your decision when you're ready, and only when you're ready._

_ Remus_

Remus read and reread, lived and relived, his letter to make sure everything was in chronological order and made sense.

_Again a puddle of blood under the door… Again his mother screaming…_

_That was almost thirty years ago, _Remus reminded himself. And it _wasn't _my fault – isn't that what I've been writing this whole time?

He sealed the letter and was almost ready to send Hedwig back again when he glimpsed a face peeking out of an open drawer in the desk. Opening the drawer, a smile threatened to cross his face.

It was his seventh year at Hogwarts, the last Hogsmeade weekend, and once again he and his Marauder friends were up to no good. James, wearing stag antlers; Sirius, floppy black dog ears emerging from his dark hair; Peter, round ears and whiskers; Lily, red fox ears poking out of her dark red hair; and Remus, soft gray ears clashing with his hair. They were at the Three Broomsticks, in the back corner of the room. It had been James's idea to be brave and make the End of Exams Celebration more enjoyable. Lily, at the time, was unaware that she sat in the company of three illegal Animagi, and the other a werewolf, but would understand soon enough the real meaning behind the boys' choices in animalistic features.

Remus reopened the letter and fished out and envelope from another drawer in the desk. After writing a note on the back of the photo, he sealed it and the letter inside the envelope. Carefully and gently he tied the letter to Hedwig's leg, brought her to the window and watched her fly until the night sky swallowed her whole and she disappeared into its black abyss.

After making himself comfortable, he opened the novel he had been reading earlier, though only to close it once again after deciding reading the same sentence over and over again didn't qualify as really reading. The light went off and he rolled onto his side facing the blank wall.

With so much on his mind, the least he could hope to accomplish tonight was sleep.


End file.
